


Lucky Strike

by comeblaqtome



Category: One Piece
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, more tags to come as I update, slowish burn I’m not very patient
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-03
Updated: 2019-05-03
Packaged: 2020-02-16 15:55:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18694654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/comeblaqtome/pseuds/comeblaqtome
Summary: Slow burn, modern AU, Sanji meets a man at the gym and has to re-evaluate some things about himself.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first multi-chapter work sooooooo we’ll see how it goes!!

There’s only two 24 hour gyms in the city, and Sanji thinks himself lucky that one of them is just down the block from the restaurant he’s been working at. As sous chef, he usually gets stuck with the worst shifts, able to run the back of the house and keep the crew on track, but not able to take the glory the way the executive chef gets to.  
“Promotions take time. There aren’t 21 year old executive chefs,” his boss had told him, promising that his skill set wasn’t the thing holding him back.Sanji’s frustration would build into a fever pitch until he couldn’t sleep, tossing and turning all night, waiting for time to pass until it was more exhausting to lay in bed rather than to just keep going.  
But the gym helped with that. Just an hour of running the treadmill eased his mind and kept his muscles toned. He loved running, the plod of his feet on the slight incline of the machine, his thoughts quieting to listen to the beat of the music and the pounding of his heart. And when he was done, he could go home and actually sleep, no matter that it would be nearly 2am when he got there, smelling freshly of teakwood body wash from his gym shower.  
Sanji was perfectly content to let this routine go on forever. Just an hour of alone time each night, aside from the desk attendant, by himself in the expansive room of exercise equipment. Until one night he isn’t alone.  
And that’s fine, of course, he isn’t the only member of the gym, after all. Except the new guy is on his machine. Sanji stops at the top of the stairs.  
A line of ten treadmills stand on the third floor of the gym, looking out the window with a view over the park, and he had to pick the third from the left? It shouldn’t matter, Sanji knows that, but. It does. It interrupts his nightly ritual.  
The other man doesn’t notice him as he comes into the room. He can’t hear Sanji’s footsteps over the music playing in his headphones. Sanji takes the treadmill three over from him, brooding that his usual view is slightly skewed.  
He looks out the window, his usual playlist picking up where he left off the night before, and he can feel eyes on him before sweat even starts to bead on his forehead. A gaze that follows his hands as they move to change the settings on the machine. A gaze that moseys back and forth to him throughout the hour, as hard as he tries to outrun it.  
The guy walks off a few minutes before the timer runs out on Sanji’s workout. He slows to a stop, steps off the treadmill, and stretches his hamstrings. He’s relieved to finally be alone, free from the wandering eyes of the stranger. He picks up his bag and heads downstairs to the locker room to grab a shower, but he hears the water already running when he gets down there.  
He huffs a sigh and heads home, sweat drying to his skin in the cool night air. He’s as frustrated as when he first left work earlier, and he has a hard time getting his key in the lock from how much he’s fuming. His roommate is sitting there on the couch, “Hey, you look like crap, you good?” Usopp pipes up through a mouthful of Frosted Flakes. He drops his gym bag right inside the door.  
“Gee thanks. Just what I needed to hear.” Sanji steps into the bathroom off the living room. He splashes his face with water.  
“Is everything ok? You seem pretty wound up.”  
“Yea, I just,” he crosses to the shower and turns the hot water on, still speaking to his best friend through the open door, “my workout didn’t help me relax tonight. There was some guy there who I’ve never seen before and he kept looking at me while I ran. It made me feel weird.”  
“Well, you’re bound to run into weirdos with the hours you keep.”  
“The hours I keep? You’re still up, too.” Sanji strips off his sweaty clothes and drops them into the hamper before stepping into the shower. He tries to relax as hot water beats down on his back, but it’s not helping.  
“Yea, but I’ve been sitting here since 8 o’clock watching ‘Whose Line’”.  
Sanji leans an arm up on the wall of the shower, hoping to wash away the stress of the day with the bar of Dove he lathers against his chest, but it doesn’t seem to be helping. Once he’s clean he dries off and takes his robe off the hook on the back of the door and slips it on so he can cross the living room.  
“Good night,” he calls as he goes into his bedroom. He hangs his robe and lays on top of the navy patchwork quilt covering his bed and closes his eyes, eager to drift off to sleep under the cool air of the ceiling fan, but sleep doesn’t come.  
Two weeks go on like this. A bad night at work, the guy on his machine, a dissatisfying workout, a sleepless night.  
Then one night he walks up to the third floor as usual, but before he can pop his headphones into his ears, the guy speaks to him. “Hey, what do you do?”  
“What?” Sanji’s taken aback, apprehensive to talk to the guy he’s been quietly resenting for fifteen days.  
“What do you do? I never expected there would be anybody else here at this hour, but you show up every night. Twelve-thirty on the dot”. His tone is friendly, in a way that Sanji feels he really can’t brush off without feeling rude.  
“I’m… a chef. At La Mer. What about you?” He starts a slow jog on a treadmill, just one machine separating the two of them this time.  
“I’m an EMT. I work second shift. I come here right after I get off. Name’s Hazel.” He reaches out a hand across the empty machine and Sanji apprehensively takes it, noting for some reason that his skin is remarkably soft.  
“Sanji. Nice to meet you,” he tries to be cordial, though he’s not the best at meeting strangers.  
“The pleasure’s all mine.” Hazel shoots him a smile, toothy and genuine, and an unfamiliar heat creeps into Sanji’s cheeks. He’s unsure if he can put his headphones in and just get on with his workout now or if that would be rude, and Hazel keeps talking to him, so he’s sure it would be in poor taste, “Are you training for a marathon?”  
“No, I just like to come and wind down after work. Nothing special.” Sanji averts his gaze, looking at the street lights flickering in the park down below.  
“Ah, well, it wouldn’t surprise me if you were. You’re built for long distance running. I did cross-country when I was in high school, and my coach was always looking for guys with your shape. Strong through the legs, slender up top.” Hazel is checking his heart rate on his watch as he speaks, not looking at Sanji as he describes him. Sanji’s unsure whether to be flattered or creeped out by the amount of attention that’s been paid to him.  
“Thank you, I suppose.” Sanji’s programmed workout starts to pick up then, and he begins running in earnest.  
“What made you get into the restaurant business? Your hands are much too pretty for someone who works with them.” The comments on Sanji’s appearance seem to come so easily out of him, as if he just talks to everyone like this. Maybe Hazel’s just an observant guy, maybe he’s been working up the courage to talk to Sanji for all of these two weeks, and now all the words are flowing out at once.  
“Oh, um, my dad was a chef. He taught me everything. I went to Paris after I turned 18 and trained for a couple years before coming back home.” It’s easy for Sanji to talk about cooking. It’s his passion, once his mind gets geared into talking about food, it’s like he’s firing on all cylinders. He talks and talks about the restaurant he’s at, about his shitty boss, about his dream of opening his own place, about the cute maître d’ he’s been courting for the last few months to no avail.  
And Hazel listens attentively. Every word. Every gesture. Every pant of breath that Sanji takes.


	2. Chapter 2

Sanji feels exuberant. There’s a happiness inside him that is so bright it feels like light filters out through every one of his pores and he glows. He hasn’t felt this way since he first perfected his recipe for consommé after trying for weeks, and finally, his patience paid off in a perfectly clarified broth.   
And on this perfectly warm and sunny Saturday morning, he might just repeat that triumph. As he browses the farmers’ market, he finds tomatoes, red and beautifully ripe, firm in his hand. “First picks of the season. Looks like we’re gonna have some good crop all summer,” the gentleman tells him from behind the stand.  
“They’re always best in June. Heirlooms, especially. I’ll take a half pound of these and two zucchini, please.” He pays for the goods and chats a few more minutes with the man, asking when they’re expecting the wild blackberries, he’s thinking of making jam, his friends loved the batch he made last year so much he gave all the jars away as gifts. And he wanders around the market, feeling the gentle heat of early summer warm his shoulders through a sky blue t-shirt. He stops for a cup of coffee, sits back and sips it, and lights a cigarette.   
It’s a moment of pure relaxation. He sits and watches people filing around, his thoughts quiet. He watches the sun flicker across the glossy black hair of vendor selling natural soy candles and remembers he had matched with her on Tinder at some point, but they never went beyond a first date. Story of his life. He stirs another sugar packet into his coffee and hears the chair across from him scrape across the cobblestones paving the patio of the cafe.  
“Hey pal! Fancy meeting you here!” Hazel sits down across from him, a smile spreading ear to ear, strawberry blond curls gleaming in the sunlight. “I thought for sure you were a night owl!” He sips an iced latte, shaking the condensation off his hands when he sets the cup down.   
Sanji thinks to himself that he’s never known anyone so inescapable. “I like to get out in the sun on days off from work. What about you? It’s not even noon, you should be freshly out of bed.” He leans forward in his seat, closer to Hazel, and leans an elbow on the table. He can smell whiskey on his breath as he laughs.  
“Ahaha, I didn’t get home last night. I went out for a couple drinks with some buddies after my shift, and things got a little wild.”   
Sanji bites the inside of his cheek. The twinge of jealousy in his stomach doesn’t quite make sense. Sure, he’d noticed that Hazel wasn’t at the gym the night before. And maybe the third floor of the gym felt a little lonely by himself. But jealousy? That can’t be right.  
“Do you have plans today? Do you want to grab brunch? I’m pretty new to town but the people I’ve met are always raving about this place over on the Ave, they say it has the best Bloody Mary’s.”  
Sanji thinks briefly of his plans to cook that day, but before he’s weighed out what he wants to do, he’s already saying “That sounds great”.   
As they walk Uptown their steps seem to fall in time effortlessly. Sanji twirls his lighter back and forth between his fingers, somehow nervous to indulge such a filthy habit as smoking in front of of Hazel. Why was he any different?   
Hazel talks and talks and talks like he always seemed to, now delving into a story about how he lost his two front teeth in one of his mom’s cookies when he was a kid, she was always bad at baking. “Too much flour,” Sanji says all of a sudden, not waiting for Hazel to stop talking before he cuts in.  
“Huh?”   
“Too much flour makes cookies hard and crumbly. You can balance it out a little with more butter, but it’s hard to come back from. Usually you’ll have to start the batch all over.” Sanji finally lights up, nerves finally getting the best of him, wanting them to ease off just enough so he can keep up a conversation with the man whose brown eyes look so pretty when the light hits them, the outside corners turning upward when he smiles.  
“Ah, she’s always insisted that she knows what she’s doing. I would call and let her know, but she’d never listen. Such a Virgo. Oh, what’s your sign?” Hazel’s hand taps Sanji on the elbow, a natural and friendly gesture that feels very heavy somehow. Hazel takes his hand back and tucks it into his pocket.   
“I’m a Pisces. March 2nd.” Sanji can sense his sudden apprehension, and for some reason that makes him feel better, knowing that he isn’t the only one who feels strangely awkward in this pair. It’s like he’s on a first date, not sure whether he should hold hands with a pretty girl who’s out of his league.   
“Oh my god, I’m a Leo! I get along so well with water signs!” Hazel bursts into a laugh, curls on the top of his head bouncing with the shaking of his shoulders. That loud, full laugh seems to echo through the streets, filling the empty spaces between the building and seeping into every ounce of oxygen around them. Sanji breathes it in. Wishes that he could be filled with the vibrations of that laugh forever. He smiles, can’t help but smile.  
“Is that right? I’ve never known much about astrology.” They walk into the restaurant Hazel had mentioned, and get seated quickly. Sanji finds himself pulling out Hazel’s chair for him. How chivalrous.   
Sanji listens as Hazel describes sun and moon and rising signs, and different placements and as he looks up Sanji’s birth chart, he finds himself flattered that Hazel’s trying to get to know him more. Brunch is pleasant, and they make small talk and tell little stories about their professional training. Hazel quips about the first time he tried to give an IV and how terribly he fucked it up. Sanji talks about the cheese souffle he had made for a date that deflated the second before she walked in the door.  
“Cheese souffle? I thought souffles were desserts.” Hazel’s pushing around the remains of his omelette on his plate.  
“Well, the chocolate souffle is much more popular, but the cheese souffle is more temperamental, I think. But anyway, you keep asking about me, you haven’t told me anything about yourself today.” Sanji leans in to hear him speak.  
“Oh, me? Uh, well, I don’t know where to start. Um, I’m 23. I’m from a little town out west, on the Wyoming line. I have an older brother. Uhhhh…” Sanji’s surprised to see Hazel doesn’t have much to say for once.  
“What made you decide to be an EMT?”  
“Oh! I always wanted to be a nurse, but I never got the chance to go to finish my degree. I was taking a few courses when I first came out and my dad kicked me out so I had to make some quick choices and it only takes a couple months to become an EMT so, it just… happened that way,” his voice has slowly become somber before he tries to backtrack and lighten the mood, “But I like it! Ha, it can be really exciting, and I’ve got some great stories to tell at parties!”   
The waitress brings the check, and for once, Sanji isn’t tempted to ogle her. He hands over his credit card, barely taking his eyes off of the man across from him. Sanji gives him a coy smile. “Yea, I can’t imagine many parties happen in Wyoming. How did a social butterfly like yourself survive?”  
“Oh, I was a really shy kid. I didn’t come out of my shell until I left home. Did you want me to venmo you for the bill?” Hazel reaches for his phone.  
“No, no, I’ve got it this time. Shall I walk you home?”  
“I’ve still got some errands to run today, but thank you. I’ll see you at the gym?” Hazel stands to leave, smiling as he brushes back a couple of loose curls from his face.   
“Of course. Twelve-thirty.”  
Sanji takes his time walking home, reveling in the warmth of the early afternoon, replaying the last couple hours in his head. There’s a complicated stirring in his chest. Some part inside of him rising up that he’s not familiar with. When he comes home he sets his tomatoes in the hanging basket by the sink, deciding to start his soup after a well-deserved nap.  
“Where have you been? You said you were only going out for some produce.” Usopp sits down on a stool at the counter, still in his pajamas enjoying a lazy Saturday.   
“Ah, yea, I ran into someone I know at the farmers’ market. We went and got a bite to eat.” Sanji crosses the kitchen to put his zucchini in the fridge.   
“That guy from the gym you can’t stop talking about?”   
“What do you mean ‘can’t stop talking about’? I’ve only mentioned him a couple times.”   
Usopp counts on his fingers, “Hm, a couple… Seven times in the past four weeks? And that’s just the times I can remember. I’d say you can’t stop talking about him.”  
Sanji frowns, “So I made a friend at the gym. Are you jealous? Afraid I’m gonna replace you?” He moves to tousle Usopp’s hair, hoping a joke can deflect the attention from him.  
“As if. I’m one of a kind, even if you tried, you’d never find a friend as good as the Great Usopp.”  
“You’re right. So I won’t bother. I’m gonna make dinner after I take a nap, you wanna eat with me?”   
“If you’re cooking I’m eating.”   
“Alright. I’ll get up in about an hour and get started.” Sanji exits the kitchen to go to his room, stripping off his shoes and t-shirt to lay down for a little rest. As he lays there, eyes closed, his mind drifts aimlessly but lands on Hazel. He thinks of the soft red curls that rest on the crown of his head, how they fade down the sides into a close crop, copper tones that glowed in the light and never failed to catch Sanji’s eye.  
He shook the thought from his mind. Why would he think about another man as he was trying to fall asleep? Sure, he’d had a good time at brunch. He enjoyed their chats in the gym, how they broke up the monotony of the workout. But to think of him now is strange. Sanji’s hand mindlessly grazes over the top of his thigh, soft, tender, enticing. He can feel himself getting hard.   
This shouldn’t be happening. These thoughts aren’t his, he’s not interested in men. But suddenly his fingers are unbuttoning his jeans, his mind’s eye seeing those curls ducked down between his legs as he palms himself through his boxers. He’s taking his time, he rolls his hips slowly, ever so slowly, savoring the friction. Thinking about the wet heat he’s craving. There’s a hunger inside him.   
He thinks of taking those curls in his hand, tilting Hazel’s face back to look up at him. Meeting the gaze of those brown eyes. Feeling the back of his throat swallowing the head of his cock, pillowy lips caressing the length of his shaft. Sanji’s daydreaming gets the better of him quickly, and he cums in his hand before he ever pulls his pants off.   
Maybe he should skip the gym this evening.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking so long on this chapter, I’m gonna get back on track soon!

Hazel’s not really a worrier. He’s never been one to really overthink or jump to conclusions, but Sanji’s absence this evening has him feeling that something really isn’t right. For a while, he comforts himself with the thought that perhaps he was just running late. It wasn’t like Sanji to be late, sure, but things do happen.   
He thinks maybe he should call, or text, to see what’s going on. Just to make sure he’s alright, you know? Not like it really means anything. What if Sanji had been mugged and he was laying in the street bleeding? Surely that warrants calling. Platonically.   
But Hazel had been too nervous to offer his number at any point. Being nervous is out of character for him, but any time he’s around Sanji it feels like his heart starts beating harder and everything he wants to say feels like it could be a little too friendly.  
Usually it’s easy to wait for Sanji to arrive. He lifts some free weights for about 20 minutes before heading up to the third floor and when that beautiful blond man comes up the stairs, Hazel’s on the first incline of the treadmill’s program. But today, he feels so antsy. He thinks maybe he should have let Sanji walk him home that morning. Maybe it upset him to have his advances turned down. If it was an advance at all.   
Hazel admits maybe he’s been a little too guarded with himself lately. And he really likes Sanji, it’s just… he doesn’t want to repeat old mistakes. He still has a scar on his shoulder from a fight he got into with an ex. He wonders if it will ever fade or if he’ll be reminded of just how much men don’t want him forever.  
He shakes the thought from his head, “Don’t get yourself down in the dumps with all those negative thoughts,” he mumbles to himself. But staying positive gets harder and harder as the night wears on and Sanji never shows. At one o’clock he decides to go home.   
He takes his gym bag and throws it over his shoulder, preparing for the short walk back to his apartment. His mind is racing, anxious thoughts about Sanji bouncing around and picking at his insecurities.   
And it stays that way for almost a week. The fifth night, Sanji finally makes his way up to the third floor and already feels a blush creeping into his cheeks. Hazel turns at the sound of the footsteps and instantly perks up.   
“Hey! I missed you!” Oh fuck, oh shit, that was way too forward.   
“Oh, sorry, I’ve been under the weather the past couple days,” Sanji lies, floundering to hide that he was too embarrassed by his desires to show his face at the gym. “What, were you worried about me?”  
“Huh? Pfft, of course not. It’s not like I got used to seeing you every day or anything.” Hazel hopes his sarcasm can cover his obvious concern.  
“Maybe we should exchange numbers? So we could let each other know if we wouldn’t be here? Um, just to avoid the worry or whatever.” Sanji fiddles with the program on the treadmill to avoid making eye contact.  
“Yea, uh, if you want to, that’s fine.” Hazel reaches for his phone and punches in Sanji’s number as he calls it out.   
“Could you send me a picture of yourself? For your contact photo, I mean.”  
Hazel blushes a little, the tension between them palpable, and hurries to find a picture that’s suitable. 

The way Sanji’s heart pounds when that picture pops up on his phone as he walks home is an addictive feeling.


End file.
